


My hands hold no guns

by InYourDreamsBirdboy



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood the Lost Days
Genre: Barbara channels her inner Batman -of some sort, Canon Divergence, F/M, Forget that Flashpoint ever happened, Groundhog Day was a big inspiration (believe it or not) as well as Death Cab for Cutie, Jason isn’t complaining, People die in horrible ways, Pre New52, Stephanie isn’t aware of her bad star, Talia wants to retaliate, a pity if you haven’t brought popcorn to this, and Detective Gage puts two and two together, it doesn’t go as she planned, it’ll be fun. Until it isn’t
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InYourDreamsBirdboy/pseuds/InYourDreamsBirdboy
Summary: Two pints of blood bathing the ground beneath them was a bad omen.





	1. there’re no winners

**Jason Todd**

Something's off. Can't see what, but I can tell.

There's the scent that I know like the back of my hand. It's got roses mix up with sandalwood. Just a hint along with the sweet vanilla, and-- Jeez, this perfume is been buried deep within my brain, and now's crawling out as I did from out the grave. All the benzoin notes, the oud smell, the cedarwood... 

"Jason."

I hear my name being hissed and I know I'm a dead man; the sound's like velvet to the touch -so suave- almost a whisper, though loud and clear to me. Before I can get a grip on myself my body reacts, stiffing like a kid caught red-handed.

I know that person and I'm sure as hell of who's wearing that perfume too: Talia al Ghul.

The woman's here. In my place. In my living room. Sitting on my couch.

Can picture her right behind me, legs crossed, face blank, and deep green eyes staring daggers at me. The moment I turn 'round to face her, the view hits me like a train wreck: she's stunning; hasn't changed a bit. Talia remains young, silent, and deadly. Haven't seen her for at least three years, since... our _little_ fling, that's it; the whole _thing_ went wrong at so many levels-- even saw her as a mother for christ sake...

"Had I known you were comin', I woulda arranged for a--" the words 'warmer welcome' stuck in the back of my throat like a fishbone._ I cannot be a dick to her;_ she saved me. More than that, _she_ gave me a purpose, _dammit!_

The woman doesn't need to cut my crap or need to say a single word before I see how much I've disappointed her.

_Fuck_... I was doomed beforehand to failure. Shouldn't have targeted her son-- shouldn't have done a lot of things! Not that I regret them, it's just that there's no happy ending for me, _is it?_ Always knew I'll die young -did die once- but it's one thing to know, and another to actually embrace your death again... _Fuck!_ Can feel my confidence ebbing away every second; bet she does too.

"Jason," another voice addresses me. Sasha -my partner in _crime_. The purest being I've ever met.

"She's here to talk," she says, resting in a chair beside the couch with a shy smile tugging at her chopped lips. Weren't her face scarred from that shitty mask, it woulda been a wholehearted smile.

But enough! I have to do something. Perhaps I'm not as dead as I thought.

"May I ask why?" I approached them and sit in front; the coffee table's my shield would things go crazy -which I'm sure they will, given my track record. "I mean, after failin' to you and mauling yer son… what else would you wanna talk about 'sides settin' a date and place to end me, huh?" Can't believe I'm saying this with a smirk.

Sasha's having trouble hiding her panic attack. She's gasping –loudly- but Talia's eyes are still on me. Piercing my skull like one of those meta_-_creeps with their powers. I'm so fucked; wish the girl wasn't here. She's gonna be collateral if not something worse, and I can't do a damn thing because the moment I let my mouth run... I become the friggin' irresistible force paradox in flesh and bones.

"You have disappointed _me_, Jason," Talia speaks again, and I'm bewitched.

The woman has all the right to kill me, right here right now. Sure, I've never asked for what she did but still, if it weren't for her, I doubt I could articulate any thoughts at all; saved my ass to be payback with nothing...

"Yet, you've proven to be still of use."

I'm dumbfounded through and through.

"What?!" is everything I can say, not sure if my internal monologue has been poured out load, and she was comforting me, or if it was just pure divine providence.

"Do not mistake me. What you did to Damian, I do not approve. However, he was in dire need of a challenge and so you... provided one." I'm nodding at every word she says, gingerly 'cause she's an Al Ghul and who knows what's in that pretty head of hers, though she doesn't look angry about what I did to the little brat. "But, you were soft."

Soft. The last word strikes me. _Soft?_ At that, can't help but raise my brows in surprise. Soft isn't in my repertoire. Nor is it among the words I'll use to describe my style. Soft is more a Bruce thing -which I bet she said on purpose too, as her eyes have that gleam only the mention of his name can bring up to the surface. Yeah… I bet she's proving me, but I'll play along.

"Soft?" I repeat like a trained parrot, and for a second, she stares at me as if thinking that all the explosive training left me deaf. It must be the funnier face I've seen her put. And it also is short-lived as she quickly regains her composure and continues.

"My father said that I unleashed a curse upon this world the moment I throw you into the pit with him…" I know the story, it ends with a mother in pain and a father enraged. I also know that she disagreed with him, but it wasn't enough. Poor woman couldn't raise her own blood because she might have weakened the Al Ghul's roots by caring and loving her child. I said poor because she ended up pouring all that on me. _Fuck_... she deserved better. Always will if I get away in one piece.

"To everyone, you're nothing but a barking dog that never bites, but to me… you are vengeance, Jason," she tosses me a paper folder with photos of the dynamic duo during our last _partnership_ and says, "Prove them wrong."

_Prove them wrong? Who's wrong? Her father? Grayson? Bruce? Who's she talking to?_

"Kill the original," she orders and my eyes go full wide at the request.

I see Batman's smile; feels outplace. He's not Batman, but Circus Boy. The flashy grin still there, no matter how much the cape weighed on him. I may hate Grayson with all my guts, but enough to kill him? She must be desperate to ask _me_ of all people, and I need to know, "Why?"

She never turned her eyes off me. As if the photo hurt her. Or perhaps she was studying my reaction, I don't know. Can't be ahead of her, she's hard to foresee.

"He has corrupted my son."

The certitude which she speaks makes me fully aware that this isn't a joke or a demand I could pass. I own her but, "Corrupted him? Not sure I wanna ask but... how did he?" I'm gaining time; have too. Grayson wasn't all that bad… wasn't 'round when I needed him, but he tried, right? Gave me his phone number, and the guy's another messed up orphan playing a role none of us were ready to-- to hell with that! He was a dick! And Talia has seen the fire in my eyes, her face lit up a little.

"He corrupted my son by restricting his potential, his skills… He's seeking to bend Damian's will, weaken him as Batman did to all the Robins prior. Grayson seeks to break my son's spirit."

What the--? I don't think Grayson's logic is that twisted... If anything, he was trying to amend dunno-what and it looked like it was working; the brat was changing...

Was that the reason for contacting me? Is she afraid her son's gonna turn normal? "Tricky..." I say.

Should kill no-bat for redeeming himself? Should stop him? Didn't feel like a charade to me when I saw the couple of pricks interact. It… no, not now-- I wasn't envious of them. I had Scarlet at my side, and though she wasn't trained, she responded to my commands with--fuck! Am I doing to her what they did to me? Am I dragging her with me into this crusade to our ends? Am I like Grayson?

"Kill him," she orders me, voice heavy with fear, and it's now when I see it clearly.

"You're being emotional here, you need to think this thing through; keep a cool head. Otherwise, it will blow up in your face, Talia," I say but she doesn't blink. "Take it from someone that's been there not so long ago..."

She wants her son to be happy; wants a family. Perhaps not the American type, but a family after all. She wants Bruce and potato head within a foot of distance from her; wants them, and anything that could threaten that picture in her head could die.

"Killin' Grayson may be the worst idea you've ever had since you hurled me into the pit with your pops..." Her brows crease slightly and I can't believe myself for what I'm about to say. "Those two have _bound_ after Bruce was gone." That's a bitter fact for her, and even if she doesn't want to admit it in public, I'm aware that she knows. "I've seen how the _dynamic_ duo works magic in kids. You've seen that too. The thing is…"

I cease talking, letting my brain sorcerer a solid point and, _man_, do I love dramatic pauses? She's clearly on the verge of cutting my throat -or sendin' someone else to do the dirty job. Either way, I have to settle down this madness before nurturing her demands further.

"If I was to kill the _only_ male your son relies on, and therefore the father figure he _never_ had…" she lays closer. "He'll never forgive y--"

"He will," Talia states, pulling herself back on her seat and making Sasha jump with fear. This woman is so clear, cold, and perfect as the very evil embodiment, and I'll be nodding all the way in like a little hellhound if _they_ weren't famil-_Fuck_...

"No, he won't," is what I say before Sasha panicked even more.

The air around us becomes burdensome, the tension palpable from two blocks away. All I need is a good answer. The right words in the right order at the right time. Easy-peasy. "He's grown deeply attached to Grayson. More than to his very own father. In fact, I doubt Bruce would matter to him any more than Drake himself. And you know the replacement is not his cup of tea… Instead of killing him, I would suggest something more… _effective_."

"Keep talking."


	2. medals hung from silken strands

**Stephanie Brown**

The pitter-patter sound of water is one of my favorite things about raining days; _that_ and also how it feels over my face, washing away the worries I've been gathering since _forever_, and stripping off the thick mascara that Babs told me to change into waterproof but, duh... do I ever bother to listen?

I fly solo tonight, scoping my own case. No partners at sight or guidance in my ear. Just plain ol' me ready for some action, though to be fair... the actual playground has been moved from the 'original' burbs 'nd docks to the Devil's District –-must say, about four blocks down from my first home sweet home, and that's not the only thing that's changed! My suit's hot! I mean, it ain't just purple but black and heavy, all Kevlar and ballistic stuff with a very bright big bat on my chest. Very fulfilling in _all_ its meaning and I like it! Makes my boobs round and full in a sexy way --ask the 'new' Robin himself, _he can tell._

Now, talking about_daemons__,_ why isn't he here? I thought not having the big B' on his back could mean that my-goodwill-project would be free to patrol all night, scaring the wit out of any visible soul, but he's not at sight... _Spooky bird, please, do not come here of all places... be a good marauder and bark at the kids cosplaying you at Robinson Park, but do not get any closer to my case or I'll--_

"Here comes Gotham's finest!" and by _finest__,_ I mean, not finest at all. No Bueno. Period, okay? Salcedo's gang is having a _party_on the second floor of the Joker's birthplace. _Is it fitting? __Who cares._

It also seems like _Maleficent_didn't get the invitation because she --actually the Penitente cartel-- covers the exit with a few shady armored vans and a little horde of thugs sporting AKs and Gatling guns.

_Gee, what a wonderful time to be alive!_

It'll be a carnage before it can start, and think I regret keeping it a secret from my former sweetie because I could use a hand. Or two. Or a battalion of hands, _goddammit!!_

The crew I've been following the whole week might be the stupidest in Gotham or the cleverest for all I know because smuggling 'happy pills' in the border with Arkham Island is a pretty big talk -there was sure smart figuring somewhere, I can tell. Could even root for them if _they_ weren't the bad guys in the story so far, 'cause I'm sure as gravity they would never _ever_ turn themselves into role model citizens unless I karate-my-way into their lives --which I'm about to do in a jiffy.

_Think about it!_

About all the people truncating their futures, dashing their hopes… Some would undoubtedly walk the dark path even though you point at the right one with the bat signal at full power. My father did it multiple times --still does. And he always ended the same way: behind bars. That's the reason why I'm so good at catching nutty patterns (I think). The Cluemaster --my dearest daddy-- taught me to seek the invisible traces that people left behind and see what's beyond them. Well... _technically_, he didn't teach me for he would never spend quality time _with_ his daughter but, what _he_ always did was planning big scores in broad daylight in our basement.

_See where I'm getting?_

These guys --the ones inside the building-- did it at dusk and dropped the same vibes and hints my Dad favored the most. Not to claim the 'Captain Obvious' award for them but, by choosing _this_ particular place, they screwed up in style. And oh, how I enjoy their old-fashioned logic at show and the thrill of being ahead of Tim for once –-a girl can only dream, _right?_

The _unusually_ adroit thing for simple drug dealers becomes the main reason I pursue these suckers without telling him or anyone else. Five years in the 'family' serves me to know how to pick my own battles for a seat at the _Arthurian table _on their secret club --or kingdom, or bat-lair, or whatever they would choose as a name, take your pick.

I decided on the cases one at a time. And though there would be no cloud-nine days without rock-bottom moments left below, I've my plate full of the last ones -had a decade of that actually, but now nobody's shouting orders at me.

"Hush, _they are moving!”_Binoculars in hand, I look around for the last time before heading into business and report back, "One at the front—"

_Shit!_

Old habits die hard. Proxy wasn't on the other side of the comms; neither was O.

I'm all alone. For real this time. I peruse the premises for an entrance and spot a flickering lamppost near the front guy --a.k.a. The bouncer-- so, it's lights-out time! Aiming a Batarang to it for additional razzle-dazzle is part of the job and--_Jackpot! _If things didn't work as Batgirl, perhaps I have a future in becoming a street performance or a Knife thrower, _huh? _A rush of dopamine struck my entire body, and I need to get in gear pronto because no light means no bouncer to worry. And no bouncer is better than an armed guy twice my size!

I call the dark spot over the high fence bordering the abandoned building; it had my name on it! I shot my grappler at it and let Newton do the rest as my body swoops like a swallow through the rain, reaching where no man could see me with Cass's efficiency. The problem was, I hadn't seen the iron sign blocking the narrow path.

_Shit again!_

I reach the sign and let some line out, pulling it a few times to measure if it could hold my full weight without breaking. I'm no Fat-girl! No matter how many times Damian said so, I'm not! The sign though... seemed rusty, and I'm just cautious in a Red Robin's kinda way. He would be proud of me if I hadn't burnt that bridge... _'kay, mourn's over, I need to move forward. And soon!_

Without a hitch the rusty sign holds me and I walk over the thin wall light-footed faster than I thought I could, and to my surprise the bouncer is still there, eyes focus on the road ahead and breathing hard through the mouth.

_"That's true loyalty,"_ though there's no time to admire his commitment 'cause I gave him a chance to run, and he missed it!

Mimicking Batman's techniques of 'how to make a first impression,' I circle my right foot around the string, letting the cord tight --but not too much, it had to be mobile at some point-- and do the same with my hand to descend slowly over the big bouncer. My approach upside down makes my body straightens, stomach hard as a rock. _God bless good ol' me for taking gymnastics so seriously._

When my mouth is inches away from the bouncer's ear, I sniff twice. Loudly. If he wasn't jumpy before, he _is_ now. Eyes widen and face torn in fear. Too scared to look behind, he closes his eyes. Teeth clacking and fists trembling. _That's my cue to action._

I don't hesitate and whisper in a wicked voice, "You smell that? It ain't just rain, right?" my breath warming its way to the thin patch of skin of his neck, and the man gasps as he turns his head towards the source of the creepy voice. Slowly. I only have to greet him with a devilish smirk of mine to make him weak in the knees. Just as love at first side, though it hit him with dread instead. _Hey, it's his fault for choosing to be a glorified bouncer!_

I wanted to laugh hard. It felt great to take Batman's little tricks and see the big guys running out of terror from me, but it's not that great when they literally ran away. Of all the things that I've expected him to do, he almost sprinted out of my reach.

_Almost!_

My shooting is as sharp as ever, I could hit home in a moving target even pitch black, that's it, and I prove it lickety-split. Batarang's flying faster than my brain's commanded --hand-eye coordination at its most-- and the muffled sound of a 'timber' makes my lips curl. That was a comical reaction, and I swear I've heard something like a laugh above me, but the place's too dark, and I'm too busy cutting the rope to see if someone else's watching me. The idea of a Robin -red or little- having fun at my cost is not appealing at all, but there are better things than wiping smiles off.

Back to work, I recall how many Salcedo's crooks were inside and scratch one of the 23, so there's still 22 to go. _Hooray!_ Need to find them before they miss their minion, and the other 12 from the Penitente cartel will add an extra workout.

"But where to start?" I study the door and push it slightly. The rotten frame rats my position with a loud crackle, and I toss a smoke bomb inside. _Shit_! A lot of incognito effort is required in this, and I'll go down in history for jettison my mission in less than a minute.

"Here goes nothing," I slam the door and run inside. There's no surveillance around except two big guys coughing like hell in the middle of my purple storm. _Great! _There's still time.

Racing towards the biggest one, I put on practice the Hurricanrana move that Black Canary taught me a few years ago, and it's totally worth it. I serve the guy with a head-scissoring takedown that ends in a double leg cradle pinning hold and a swift smash of his head onto the ground. A knock-out! And one of the finest if I said so myself. His friend sees the whole thing and rushes against us, forcing me to do a sit-out jawbreaker by holding his head under the jaw and sitting quickly on the floor.

_Gee_, I can feel his jaw moving into the top of his hard head, tooth smashing tooth all the way up, and eyes plotz. Then a spinning kick is enough to put him down, and the count's 20 before the smoke clears. _Yay!_

Afore my internal celebration goes livid, I shot my grappler at a steel girder and ascend to watch the unit from above. Space is divided into four zones with their assigned pair of bad boys lurking beside a door or a window. I've finished one of them, so on the main floor are 6 goons waiting for me without knowing.

All the areas are connected by a walkway, and there're two levels articulated by a guarded metal staircase that I'll cover later, but first, the smoke bomb is still releasing gas, and the crooks from the next room are coming my way with heavy steps. "Shit!"

The moment a mouth-breather opens the door, I shot a gooey marble from my own creation at his face. A mix of sustainable glue and resin covers his front preventing him from filling his lungs with the luxury air around us for about three minutes and a half -it's the life span of my little thingy- and while an average person can't stand more than two minutes deprived of oxygen, our bodies do last a bit longer enduring painful spasms in the diaphragm and intercostal muscles. I suffered them in the past, and he looked like he could manage it hassle-free. His bestie, on the other hand, was about to aid him when I rash my land over him, diving an overhead chop after another until he stumbles, then I help him tripping into the ground and knock him out as Cass did to me --and without breaking his collarbone for a change.

Four 'chaps' were dreaming at my feet like kindergarteners. I had to tie and gag them for future measures --just in case-- given that the purple smoke has already vanished, and we were also pretty noisy with the fighting and the grappling, wouldn't surprise me if another pair shows up.

So, back to work, count of goons at this point is still high, but lover than my age --can't help but be optimistic. I kick open the door to the walkway and, spoiler alert: I was right!

Two pairs welcome me in the shape of a firing squad. "Shit!"

The pack unloads their weapons at me, and I see the cartridges leaping from the chambers like salmons swimming upstream. Good thing I'm wearing a bullet-proof cape --though that doesn't make the hits stung less. If I've learned something about flocks and troops is that their shared intelligence grows thinner, the bigger they are, and these fellas are a great example, for instead of taking turns to kill me, they just opened fire at once and reloaded as one as well. "Jerks!"

I tackle the only way possible, with unrestrained rage and Naruto-sprint against the pack as I draw my twin batons and stretch 'em full length.

"This is gonna hurt like Deathstroke!" is my warning, then rocket launch myself and begin a fatal spin cycle, using the swing to the side to build my momentum, breaking bones and skulls as my batons hit them with each turn --one has to be strong and on balance to perform this and see the aftermath and stand. I do.

Number's downhill at a frantic rate, "Four less to worry about, and 16 to go." I've got my fingers crossed. Must be careful, lest the rival gang decides it is time to enter the party, for 28 is a higher number to deal and tame.

After the next challenge, I approach the guarded metal staircase turn. Guarded because at first there was a 'brawny bouncer trio' with automatics but following the ruckus they've duplicated themselves. Now I face six men of muscle, armed and dangerous waiting for me in a queue, and I'm on the verge of tears. _Joyful tears!_

"Well, that's very flattering, guys," I say out loud, my grin is hunting me. _What's to love here?!_

Upon any possible answer, doomsday officially begins. A big explosion startles us, and the building crumbles. Dust and stone fall from the top deck; liquid crystals sandwiched between two panes of glass break into thousands of pieces, _scalping_ a man in the process. _Damn, so much for a clean record. _Blood's everywhere, the ground is slick, and the guns are aiming at me, disregarding the fire outside and the cries for help. _These dumb wrecks can't even stop for one second!_

I'm holding my batons, squeezing them harder as my whole-body shivers. I'm not hesitating, this isn't the best scenario. My weapons are no fit for close combat in a narrow space, and I can't flow back --wish the poor rascal bleeding out could flow back too; at least the iron smell wouldn't torment my senses. _Shit!_

A second blast at the other end of the hall makes the ceilings collapsed, and someone shots me. The bullet brushes my cheek, and I feel the blood rushing. "That will leave a mark, you jerk!" I yell back while my fist finds its way to the trigger-happy thug in a powerful tornado punch.

I'm smashing him—them! My hands are mallets, and every strike softens the fibers, tenderizing the flesh, and their faces…. they are brisket, and my punches flow, scoring one after another and another and another until they all fall like a stack of dominos and I'm the only one standing. _Gee_. They were tough. _Very tough_. I'm panting, my head feels dizzy, my ears are ringing, my cheek burns and my hands are numb. I let the guys crumpled on the stairwell and climb atop like a zombie.

"That's 10 to go if there's any left-- Hold that thought!"

In the early evening, Salcedo was muggling 'happy pills' in Gotham. He wasn't Escobar or any other big narc with a worldwide record of trafficking, and Maleficent didn't peg me as the bombing type, then why the—BOOM!!

A third thunderous bang sends me flying to the second floor and I cough after exhaling the dirt. I'm dead… and my cheek would definitely have a mark after this. _Fricking jerk!_

My body stumbles, everything hurts, and a sizzle's making me go crazy. I look around to see what's happening, and the view of killer ninjas confirms my previous self-diagnose. _I'm cracked!_

The ninjas are killing both crews of drug traffickers, and while I foresaw a carnage, it was nothing of this magnitude! They must be stopped! Nobody is allowed to die on my mission. Absolutely no one. Not even the guys I'd beat to a pulp… _Shit!_ I crawl to the stairs to see if they had survived, but there's just wreckage and debris; no trace of them.

I'm about to dig them out when a ninja runs through the buried stair. He has an exotic knife in hand and locks his eyes on mine.

"Hello, darkness..."


End file.
